


Amaranth

by twoturtlesinabathtub



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Character Development, Child Neglect, F/M, Pre-Relationship, is that even a tag lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 21:41:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14962707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoturtlesinabathtub/pseuds/twoturtlesinabathtub
Summary: Jakob’s world, and everyone in it, had been cold since birth. So why did this girl with curious red eyes make him feel sowarm?





	Amaranth

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my first-ever ~~and completely accidental~~ Fire Emblem husband. I love you, ya magnificent bastard.

His parents were like marble, effortlessly blending into the splendor of their noble home. Marble. Held in high esteem. And cold. So cold.

Immovable like marble, too. They were so set in their ways that, by the time they’d deigned to make the time to bear a son, they had already been sculpted into what they were, what they’d always been, what they would always be. They had important places to go, important people to see, important roles to fulfill.

Naturally, Jakob wasn’t nearly as important as any of those things. He was in the _way_.

He received a first-rate education, as a matter of course. His tutors were...efficient. They came, they taught, they went. Not once did they bother to speak with him about anything else, anything personal, like how lonely he was, or how cold his parents were, or why he never smiled. Never. Jakob sometimes wondered if he was turning to stone, too. As he grew, the wonderment didn’t lessen.

One day, his parents decided to move to Windmire—the capital’s high society would open up even more opportunities to expand their wealth and sphere of influence. Being of as much use to them as a nearly forgotten piece of furniture, Jakob, well...wasn’t invited. 

He was in the way.

So they went, abandoning him, leaving him on the doorstep of Nohr’s northern fortress to rot. Well, to be a servant—but the prospect sounded worse than rotting away, in Jakob’s opinion. Someone of his birth, a  _servant_. How humiliating.

With nothing but a small case carrying some clothes and a few of his favorite books, he knocked on the door, only to be met by a stern older man with a terrifying, scarred face. They were hiring a few new servants, he said. A new princess of King Garon’s had just arrived at the fortress and would be staying there for the long term, he said. The man looked him up and down critically, eyeing his impudent expression, pale skin, and smooth, unblemished  hands. He frowned, but moved aside to let Jakob enter the fortress regardless.

As it turned out, Jakob never had the chance to wear his old clothes. He didn’t get to read his books, either—for one thing, he was too tired after a day’s work to do anything other than practically pass out once he’d returned to his quarters; and for another, the books reminded him of home—which was not good at all—so they collected dust underneath his bed. Besides, everything he’d brought with him was just a testament to how he didn’t belong. 

And he acted like it. He knew that he was _other_  to the rest of the staff, knew that so many of them sneered at him behind his back and gossiped whenever he wasn’t around. Adjusting to his new life didn’t go even remotely smoothly. The first time another servant approached him in a friendly manner, he didn’t exactly handle it well. As the nervous looking maid with pink hair introduced herself and asked for his name, Jakob fumed. How dare she speak to a member of nobility in such a familiar manner? _(A former member_ , his brain whispered to him. He loathed that honest little voice.) Jakob glared at her haughtily until she blushed and looked away, stammering out an excuse to escape from his presence. Ugh, the nerve of some people.

The head of staff tried him nearly everywhere, at almost every post. He broke the dishes while on washing duty. Couldn’t cook—Jakob was positive that he once burned a pot of water. The laundry that he washed always came back dirty. He couldn’t make a decent pot of tea to save his miserable life. But it wasn’t his _fault_. He hadn’t been born into a laboring family. Nothing was fair. It never had been.

A few months in, Jakob received the news that he was to be fired and banished from the fortress permanently. Before he knew it, two guards with firm grips on his arms were pulling him towards the fortress’s entrance. Panic seized him and he began to struggle. Just before he was dragged across the threshold, a voice made everyone stop in their tracks.

“Wait!” Jakob whipped around to see who’d called out to him. They sounded young. When he turned and met the inquisitive ruby eyes that accompanied the voice, he swallowed and immediately lowered his gaze. A servant—a noble, even—was not supposed to make eye contact with royalty without express permission. “Where are you going?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of the guards escorting him. “This servant’s proven to be incompetent, milady,” he said flatly. “We’re removing him from the fortress.”

Jakob’s eyes darted up to look at the girl again. He’d only seen Princess Corrin a handful of times, and she was always accompanied by Gunter. “But where will you go?”

Since she’d addressed him directly, it was necessary that he answer. “I—I don’t know,” he said dully. “Milady,” he quickly tacked on.

Her eyebrows drew together in obvious worry. “Well...bring him up to my room, please,” she said. The two guards exchanged subtle looks of annoyance and released their grip on him. After glaring daggers at the guards, Jakob turned and followed the princess up the stairs.

When they arrived at her chambers and had taken seats in her little sitting area, the princess clasped her hands in her lap and stared at Jakob unblinkingly, expectantly. In his stress, Jakob’s etiquette abandoned him. “What do you want, Lady Corrin?” he said abruptly.

She bit her lip as her eyes darted around her room. “I, um—I guess I just wanted someone...someone to talk to.”

A lengthy pause, then Jakob raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You want to _talk_.” It didn’t sound like a question.

“Is that wrong?”

Jakob had two options: either submit to this girl’s whims, or be bodily thrown from the fortress. He chose the former. “I suppose not.”

“Oh, good!” There was another awkward pause. “Oops, I forgot to ask,” Corrin blurted. “What’s your name?”

“Jakob.” His eyes were firmly trained on the stone floor.

“...You can look me in they eyes, Jakob,” said Corrin quietly. “If you want.”

He looked up at her cautiously, and she smiled. “Thank you, milady,” he muttered. Then he looked away.

Corrin’s hands began twisting together a little as she sensed the tension radiating off of the young man. “So, what did that guard mean earlier when he said that he thought you were ‘incompetent’? Why would he say something so rude?”

“Because it’s the truth,” answered Jakob shortly. “I can’t seem to do anything right, which means that I have no business being here.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Corrin said. “All you need to do is practice, right? I know you can get better.” 

Jakob’s eye twitched. This girl was sheltered. She knew nothing.

“You seem pretty nice to me.”

Hah. Was she delusional? Jakob was perfectly aware of how rude he’d been to her.

“I like you already.”

_...What?_

She gave him a confused look; realizing that he’d said that last thing aloud, Jakob flushed. “Don’t you believe me?” she asked.

How could he? He was cold, self-entitled, and impertinent. What was there to like? Gods, he hadn’t cared about such things before, but as he looked into the princess’s worried eyes, he felt like the marble within him was already beginning to weather. “I...I believe you,” he stammered. “Thank you for the compliment, Lady Corrin.”

She smiled brightly and laughed, and warmth practically radiated from her in waves. “Good. So can we keep talking like this?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Jakob affirmed.

* * *

So they talked. Every day. Corrin’s curiosity about the world outside her home was boundless; she bombarded Jakob with questions whenever they had their little chats. At times, Jakob would catch a flash of something in her eyes, a quick flicker of an emotion that she became better and better at masking as they grew up. Sadness. Wistfulness. The sight of it turned his stomach. Reminded him of himself. He didn’t like it. He wanted to do everything he could to keep those emotions of hers at bay.

So Jakob described the fields outside his home city, the way the wheat would sway and ripple like a sea as gold as the gilding on her siblings’ armor. His knowledge of the way that commoners lived was limited, but he described their houses, and their clothing, and their festivals. He described the _colors_. She was enraptured by such stories, hanging onto his every word with wide eyes that he now met fearlessly, trustingly.

As he matured and watched Lady Corrin do the same, though, his ability to meet her eye-to-eye weakened a bit. His face would suddenly warm, and he’d have to consciously remind himself not to trip over his words or let his hand tremble as he poured her tea. As he matured further, he began to put noticeably more care into his appearance, styling his hair and making sure that his clothing and posture were absolutely impeccable. He wanted to stand out. To be something...special. It was normal, he rationalized, to want to appear distinguished—he was her closest confidant and frequent companion. That didn’t explain the blushing, though. But perhaps that was happening because Corrin’s warmth was positively infectious.

And Jakob would do anything to protect that warmth. The servants weren’t just trained to maintain the fortress—they were trained to protect it, too. Jakob worked harder and harder every moment, waiting on Corrin and keeping her company by day, practicing his combat skills by night. He sliced and pierced the training dummies with daggers until his hands bled, until they formed calluses and made killing look so very, very easy. He took lessons from Felicia and Flora about magic so that he could heal with staves, although the thought of ever having to heal Lady Corrin—the very idea of her ever being hurt—filled him with an icy dread and unspeakable anger.

He became good, then great, then exceptional. It wasn’t enough. Jakob would be _the_ best, and wouldn’t take anything less. He’d work to improve until he couldn’t be beat, not by those other run-of-the-mill servants, not by Gunter, not by Flora or Felicia, not by anyone. He’d be the best. Corrin deserved at least that much from him for giving him a chance.

Deep down, however, Jakob knew there was some unspoken thing that motivated his tireless efforts. What this thing was, he couldn’t articulate. If it was what he imagined it to be, then he couldn’t actually be sure if it was truly _that_ ; he hadn’t grown up around love, so how could he be certain that it was what he felt? It seemed like too big a gamble to voice his concerns to anyone, so he kept them to himself.

But they always jumped to the forefront of his mind whenever Corrin spoke with him, smiled at him, even looked at him. And as he looked back, he thought that...perhaps she was changing him. He was still young, still malleable, and not yet the solid, unyielding marble of his parents. If he’d learned one thing after all this time, it was that he knew far less about life than he’d once thought as a bratty little boy.

* * *

The day after her twentieth birthday, Corrin sparred with Prince Xander. Jakob’s heart sank when she lost by a hair and slumped to the ground, exhausted in her defeat. The butler darted to her side and helped her to stand, catching the princess’s anguished expression before she could suppress it. He felt like tossing a dagger or two at the crown prince’s head when he saw that look.

Later into the evening, Corrin’s mood didn’t lift much as she spent time with her siblings, despite their obvious attempts at cheering her up. He could tell which of her smiles were real. They were few and far between that night.

It was only after he escorted her to her room that he saw the superficiality vanish from her smile. This one...this one was real. And it was for him. The marble weathered even further. 

Jakob let out a little chuckle as he brought a tea tray he’d just prepared into Corrin’s sitting room. “Your spirits seem to have lifted,” he observed as she plopped down into her favorite chair.

“Maybe a little,” she replied. “I’m always comfortable whenever your near. Such a constant, steady presence relaxes me.” Her eyes followed him as he poured two cups of tea and added cream and sugar. The first time that he’d prepared tea for her and only her, Corrin had looked at him in shock. Since then, she wouldn’t have it unless he joined her.

“You flatter me, Lady Corrin,” Jakob said, ignoring the slight flush her words had brought forth.

“...I’m glad that the day’s almost over,” he heard Corrin murmur over his shoulder.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “However, I hope that this may alleviate a bit of the sting.” He turned to face her, tea in hand.

She gave him a little smirk. “Is that so?”

Jakob nodded adamantly. “Oh, yes. Out of all the things in this world that make me happy, a good cup of tea is very near the top of my list.”

Corrin laughed and accepted the cup he held out to her. “With the way you make it, I can admit that it’s pretty high up on my list, too.” She inhaled the pleasant aroma of black tea and bergamot wafting from her cup and took a sip, sighing quietly. “Amazing, as always,” she praised.

“Thank you, my lady.” He and Corrin sipped at their tea for a few moments before she broke the silence.

“I’m interested now, though. What pleasure is at the very top of your list?” she asked the butler, head tilted to the side in her curiosity.

“Every moment spent with you,” he replied simply. As his words hung in the air, he wanted to punch himself in the face. How informal, how presumptuous, how—

“How sweet,” Corrin said, laughing lightly. Her warmth suffused Jakob’s entire being once again. “Thank you, Jakob. You’re too kind. I’m so glad that you’re here to comfort me.”

He wanted to say something. Wanted to more than anything. And he couldn’t. He was snapped from his reverie when Corrin continued. “I’ll leave this place someday,” she said resolutely, looking out the window beside them. “And wherever I go, I hope you’ll go, too.” She glanced at him with a little grin, her eyes sparkling.

Jakob smiled back, feeling warmer than ever. “I wouldn’t dream of anything otherwise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Amaranth (noun, pronounced as “AM-uh-ranth”): An imaginary, purple flower that never fades or dies.


End file.
